


D is for Duncan

by chileancarmenere



Series: Alistair Alphabet [4]
Category: Dragon Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 23:21:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chileancarmenere/pseuds/chileancarmenere





	D is for Duncan

In a momentary lull in the fighting, Alistair takes a quick peek up to the guest box. The Grey Warden is sitting up there; his face is in shadow, but Alistair can just make out the outline of a burly man. A dull gleam of steel over the man’s shoulders tells Alistair he’s a double-wielder.

He pays for his momentary lapse of concentration with a sword hilt to the head, which stuns him for a second, but he recovers quickly and disarms the offender with several quick motions.

Last night, the quarters of the templars-in-training was abuzz with the news.

“His name’s Duncan. He’s a Rivaini.”

“He’s a Grey Warden, stupid. They put aside all ties to anything other than the Wardens.”

“Who cares? He’s here to find more Wardens.”

“Hope he doesn’t pick me. I’d rather be a templar.”

“Speak for yourself. They allow the Wardens anything. _Anything_. They get to travel all over the world. And they don’t even have to do anything! The darkspawn are long gone.”

Alistair sat quietly in the corner, polishing his well-worn splintmail. All that he had known of Grey Wardens was what the Chantry told them, and what little information he had gathered second-hand from other recruits. But as he sat there, hearing of the Wardens’ legendary exploits, their remarkable selflessness (though he remembered that admirers always see their heroes through rose-tinted glasses) he remembered something that his uncle Eamon had told him.

_The highest calling that anyone can ever have is to serve and protect others._

Right then and there, Alistair decided that he has never wanted anything more badly than to become a Grey Warden.

The tournament is fought under a heavy, hot summer sun. the day progresses through the melee and more and more competitors fall. His splintmail is dented and the leather on his sword hilt is slick with sweat. Alistair knows that other competitors are better with the sword than he is. He’s never been more than a middling fighter - he can hold his own in a fight, but he gets his ass handed to him more than he likes to admit to anyone, particularly pretty new lady recruits.

However, he has one talent. It’s his dogged determination and perseverance. Alistair has a tenacity in fighting; he stays upright through sheer force of will, fighting through wounds that would incapacitate anyone else. Alistair makes himself fight, he makes himself swing a sword no matter what. He calls on that strength of mind now. he wants to win. He wants to win the tournament more than he has ever wanted to win a fight in his life.

He loses.

It’s a stupid, freak accident. The arena, by late afternoon, is muddy from churning bodies and blood spilled. One templar recruit, who had training as a rogue before he came to the Chantry, can’t take Alistair head-on, so he slips around to the side. Alistair twists, frantic to catch the blow on his shield, but his foot hit’s a slippery patch and he goes down hard. The damned recruit puts his dagger to his throat, where it bumps up and down from his rapid heartbeat.

The umpire calls it. He’s dead.

In the barracks, Alistair strips off his armor in a fury; at himself, at that recruit, at the world. Endless dusty days of guarding mages for a cause he’s not sure he agrees with stretch ahead of him. He had his chance and blew it.

“Alistair? It is Alistair, isn’t it?”

At the deep, husky voice of the Rivaini behind him, Alistair slowly turns. Duncan claps him on the shoulder. “I came here looking for Wardens. I think I might have found one.”


End file.
